Battle Royale: Endgame
by KyleHydeWindow
Summary: A group of students are entered into the annual Program. As best friends are pitted against one another, paranoia, anger, and the unrelenting urge to survive take over. There is only one rule in this game: kill or be killed. Allegiances are forged. Lifetime friendships are broken. But out of the 30 students forced to take part, only one can walk away alive.
1. Prologue

Battle Royale: Endgame

'Three days ago, I was so bored of life. The sheer monotony of it all. Wake up, go to college, work my ass off to get below-average grades. Come home, play the hell outta some videogame that I don't even care about. Rinse and repeat. I would have given anything for something exciting to happen. But y'know what? Suddenly, I want to go back to all of that more than ever.'

Michael shuffled down the corridor, fully aware that he was late for lesson, but taking his time nonetheless. He'd made this a routine. If he turned up less than thirty minutes after the start, the tutor would probably think he wants to be there. And that really wasn't the impression Michael wanted to give.

Bracing himself for an hour of mind-numbing psychology, Michael opened the stiff blue door into his own personal hell. The tutor wasn't even in the room. Hardly any students were, for that matter. Grabbing the seat closest to the door, the 18-year old surveyed the room. Directly opposite him sat Laura and Shanice, two people that Michael actually enjoyed spending time with. Michael wasn't going through a 'teenage angst' stage, the majority of his life had been spent in this state, and if he made it through the impending carnage, the rest of his days would be, too. He treasured the time when he was alone, so saying that he liked spending time with these two young women was something else. Shanice must have told one of her jokes that cracked Laura up so much, because the two of them were giggling away manically, Laura wiping tears away from her eyes. These two had been the best of friends for many years. Even a complete stranger could see that. The pair noticed Michael and waved excitedly. Michael returned the gesture, somewhat half-heartedly, but he returned it all the same. Laura and Shanice went back to what they were doing, frantically doodling on every piece of scrap paper they could get their hands on. Michael sighed, moving his eyes onto the next person in the room.

Henry's hands were moving as quick as lightning. They always were. Always trying to solve the Rubik's cube as fast as he could humanly manage, it constantly surprised Michael how he even managed to get any studying done. He did, somehow. Henry was top of the class, and no-one tried to take that title from him. He'd tried to teach Michael how to solve the Rubik's cube, but Michael resorted to peeling the stickers off one by one. Patience was never his strong point.

And sat next to Henry was-

"MICHAEL!"

Coughing violently, Michael wiped his face vigorously. The familiar, metallic, tangy taste of blood filled his mouth to the brim. Before he could respond, debris flew in his direction. Stones pelted against his skin, glass dug into his muscles. A dark mist covered the air, rendering it impossible to see anything. The blood-curdling screams had died down, but gunshots could still be heard in the distance. This far into the Program, there was little need for subtlety, or more importantly, the participants had forgotten what subtlety was. Driven crazy by the constant fear, paranoia, and general chaos of the game, it was amazing that the few remaining survivors had any sense of humanity left.

Maybe they didn't. Not anymore.

Grimacing in pain, Michael slowly inched backwards, the glass on the floor sinking into his palms. Feeling around, his hand rested on a wooden handle. Tightening his grip, he jumped onto his feet, sickle in hand. Swinging through the dust gracefully, almost like some sort of sick ballet performance, Michael raced forwards. This went on for a good thirty seconds or so, until a sickening squelch was heard. Spluttering. Gurgling.

Silence.

The air began to clear. Ripping the sickle out from his fellow student's throat, Michael grabbed the body before it could hit the floor. It was Mat. Mat Buckley. There was a deep laceration on the left side of his throat, blood oozing from the wound. But despite how quickly the blood was rushing from his body, Mat's life had left him sooner.

Slowly lowering Mat's body to the ground, Michael recalled that today would have been Mat's first real gig. He was a great musician, extremely talented for his age. The drummer type, that the girls used to flock to. He had a great future ahead of him, and now…

Shit. Laura and Shanice. How the hell am I gonna tell them about this? Michael gritted his teeth. If they were still alive, they'd understand. If they were still alive, they would have done similar by now.

Grabbing a shard of glass, Michael sat next to Mat's lifeless body. Ripping the sickle off the top of the handle, he began slowly carving the now-useless wooden instrument into the shape of a drumstick.


	2. In The Classroom: Part I

Mat was scribbling down song lyrics, as usual. His hands were moving almost as quickly as Henry's were. Michael wondered how, if Mat's gig was in three days, he'd have time to learn the song. Whatever. It wasn't his problem.

"Alright class, how are we all doin'?" The class tutor, Julio, strolled in. He usually had a calm demeanour about him, playful even. Most of the students thought of him as a friend. Always joking, always laughing. But today, something was wrong. The slight frown on his face was something none of the students had ever seen before. He was trying to keep a façade up, that much was obvious. And was that sweat? It's not even warm. Michael shrugged.

Slumping into his seat at the front of the room, Julio wiped his brow, before smiling nervously at the class.

"So it's only you guys that have shown up today? The rest must have gotten a letter."

What letter? The five students looked perplexed. Is this an extra class or something? Wait, no. Henry wouldn't be here if it was for people that weren't passing the course…

"What's this extra class for?" Laura asked the question that was on everyone's minds. Julio grimaced, his eyes welling up with tears.

"Just so you know, I wouldn't have picked you five to come in. You're such hard workers. You don't deserve this."

"Can I go home then?" Michael quipped. The tutor paid no attention.

"You all had such promise. You all could have made something of yourselves."

The five teenagers looked at one-another, unsure of what to make of the situation. Something seemed really, really wrong.

"Someone will come and explain what's going on shortly." Hands shaking, Julio opened the desk drawer. Reaching inside, his eyes flicked rapidly between the befuddled students. Painstakingly slowly, his hand came back into sight.

He was holding a gun.

Henry dropped his Rubik's cube on the ground. Mat snapped the pencil he was holding. Shanice and Laura stared at each other. Michael crunched his toes together, fidgeting wildly. Julio raised himself from the seat he'd spent seven years teaching from, he began walking towards the center of the room, his sweat dripping off the end of the weapon.

"Sorry kids. I just can't watch this happen to you."

"Whoa, hold it!" Mat jumped up from his seat, slamming his palms down on the table. His expression was one of sheer terror and anger. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Don't shout at someone holding a gun, Mat." Henry's remark did a poor job of covering up how terrified he was. Michael was surprised no-one had screamed or ran out of the room yet. Hell, he was trying to resist the urge himself. Julio grinned, slowly raising the gun upwards, placing the barrel firmly around his lips. He was shaking furiously. Saliva fell from his mouth to the ground.

"L-l-like I said…someone will be with you in a second."

"Julio." Shanice oozed of calmness as she addressed the tutor. How was she managing this? "Please. Explain what's going on. You're scaring all of us."

Julio's lips stretched to reveal a sadistic smile. Eyes locked onto Shanice, he marched towards her, stopping directly in front of her desk. He said something, but the sound was muffled by the obstacle in his mouth.

Michael blinked.

In that split second, Shanice had become covered in blood. Parts of Julio's brain flew across the room, the bright blue carpet became splattered with thick, crimson liquid. His body fell sideward, void of all life, landing on Laura's desk. Everyone leapt out of their seats.

Shanice let out a blood-curdling scream. As she did, the door next to Michael flew off the hinges, sending him tumbling across the floor. Five men, armed to the teeth with firearms, dashed into the room. One of them, a bulky, grizzled tank of a man, grabbed Michael and pinned him against the wall. The remaining four each headed for one of the other students, placing them in a violent chokehold. The room quickly descended into unrestricted chaos: shouting, cries of fear, the smell from the corpse of recently-deceased Julio began to reach everyone's nostrils.

"Ahh. The smell of death." An old woman, wrinkled beyond comprehension, entered the room in a wheelchair, pushed by a tall, muscle-bound hooded figure. "You better get used to it, because chances are, you'll all be smelling of it soon." She clicked her fingers, signalling for the students to be released.

"Before I go on, I'd just like to welcome you all to the Program. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance…"

The woman grinned maliciously.


End file.
